In the Cold Light of Day
by OpenPage
Summary: Part two of "Peeping Through the Closet Door", a series of short stories detailing Tom's journey as he comes to realize he has feelings for Dennis. With thoughts of Booker plaguing his mind, Tom starts to question his sexuality.
1. All Shook Up

**All Shook Up**

The Chapel was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning, which suited Tom just fine. A dull pain throbbed behind his right eye, the causal effect of too much alcohol and… well, he wasn't going to think about _that. That_ was something he was trying desperately to forget. If he didn't think about _that,_ then he wouldn't have to ask himself _the question_ , and the last thing he wanted to do was _ask the question_ because he was honestly terrified of the answer. For twenty-four years, he had considered himself straight, but then Booker…

 _"No! No! No!"_ his mind screamed. He wasn't going to think about _that!_ He was straight! He was Tom Hanson, and he was straight! It was the alcohol, the alcohol made him do it, it had nothing to do with...

The young officer's breath suddenly hitched in his throat, and he choked back a gasp. Dennis stood in the doorway, a _devil-may-care_ grin curling his sensuous, bowed lips. With his leather jacket and tight-fitting jeans, he had the makings of a modern-day James Dean; young, good-looking, fearless, with a hint of arrogance dancing behind his dark, mischievous eyes. If the fat cats in Hollywood knew of his existence, they would be creaming their pants. He was a once in a generation heartthrob, blessed with charm, an Adonis physique, and street smarts. Whether the dark-haired officer realized it or not, Tom knew he could have anything or any _one_ his heart desired, all he had to do was bat his ridiculously long, full lashes, and people fell under his spell.

The world was his fiddle, and he was the bow.

The fluttering beat of Tom's heart brought a moan to his throat, and he quickly lowered his gaze in embarrassment. He had no idea why a detailed description of Booker's lashes had popped into his mind when he was trying hard not to think about _that._ But the image stubbornly remained, and suddenly, his jeans felt too tight, the unexpected swelling of his cock sending prickles of panic up and down his spine. He was getting hard thinking about Booker, and getting hard meant he was attracted to him, and if he was attracted to him that meant…

"Oh, God," he groaned, and resting his arm on the back of the chair he was straddling, he cushioned his forehead on his bicep and wallowed in his misery. He could make excuses until the cows came home, but he could not deny the facts; he was horny because thoughts of Dennis _made_ him horny. Since their early morning dalliance, it was like a switch had triggered in his brain, and he suddenly saw the dark-haired officer with new eyes… with _gay_ eyes, and no matter how hard he tried, the light remained on, burning brightly in his mind, body, and spirit. Alcohol wasn't to blame, no matter how much he wished it were. The reality was plain and simple; he must have had repressed homosexual feelings for Booker long before he allowed the dark-haired officer to touch him in such an intimate way. After all, only a man with homosexual leanings would allow another man to jerk them off just because they offered. The thought was a sobering one, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He was not the man he thought he was, he was an imposter, and he was so good at hiding the truth, he had even fooled himself. He wasn't straight, he was… Gay? Bi? Queer? A fag? A butt pirate? A pillow biter? A cock jockey? An ass bandit? The synonyms swirled around in his mind, each term more degrading than the last. He'd witnessed enough homophobia to know these were the taunts he would face once the truth became known, and the reality only added to his depression.

His life would never be the same again.

"Oh, _God!"_ he exclaimed again, just in case The Almighty hadn't heard the desperation in his voice the first time. He felt sick to his stomach, and he wished he could forget the past twelve hours and wake up in his bed alone because then he would be none the wiser about his true sexual orientation. He would just be Tom, straight, boring Tom, and life would carry on as normal.

No such luck.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

Doug's greeting caught Tom off guard, and his head jerked up in surprise. "Huh? What?" he spluttered, the throbbing in his groin giving his friend's words a whole new meaning.

Well aware of Tom's intolerance to alcohol, Doug pulled up a chair and sat down. "You really tied one on last night, I'm betting you could use a hair of the dog."

The very thought of alcohol made Tom's stomach lurch, and his face paled. "Fuck no," he muttered. "I'm never drinking again."

An amused grin tilted Doug's lips. "That's what you said _last_ time. So, I guess Booker managed to get your drunken ass home okay?"

It was an innocent enough question, but it had the power to light up Tom's face like a beacon. "Um, yeah," he mumbled awkwardly, his brief response not giving too much away.

Although not one of the most perceptive people on the planet, Doug knew his friend well enough to recognize certain signs. Tom was hiding something, and that something was making him extremely uncomfortable, which only made the secret more tantalizing. If Hanson _had_ embarrassed himself while drunk, he wanted to know what he'd done so he could tease him mercilessly about it. It was what best friends did, and he wasn't about to miss out on a golden opportunity to poke fun just because the young officer was hungover and feeling vulnerable. After all, shit-stirring was all part of the friendship code, hangover or no hangover.

So, without further delay, he began a gentle interrogation. "Is something wrong? 'Cause if you wanna talk, I'm here for you, Tommy."

A look of panic flitted across Tom's face, but he quickly managed to neutralize his expression. "Nothing's wrong," he muttered. "I'm just tired."

Doug immediately recognized the excuse for what it was, a lie, and determined to get to the bottom of Tom's humiliation, he continued to press. "Aw, c'mon, Hanson," he wheedled, his eyes flashing with undisguised merriment. "Spill. What did you do? You didn't barf in Booker's car, did you? 'Cause if you did, I wanna—"

"I SAID, NOTHING'S _WRONG!"_ Tom yelled, the fierceness in his voice catching Doug by surprise. "SO DROP IT, OKAY? JUST DROP IT!"

With his hands raised in a gesture of surrender, Doug slowly rose to his feet. "Whoa, Tommy, I was only teasing. No need to get your panties in a bunch."

From across the room, Booker watched the heated exchange, a look of sadness extinguishing the twinkle in his eyes. He could still remember the panic and confusion he had felt after acting on his impulses and accepting a male classmate's invitation of a blowjob behind the school gym. There had been no romance in the act, it was trousers down, cock out, a hot mouth sucking him off, followed by an orgasm unlike any other he had experienced with a girl. The whole encounter had been deeply emotional, yet mortifyingly humiliating because it had verified what he already knew; he was attracted to boys as well as girls, and as a fourteen-year-old, he had found the truth a hard pill to swallow. His personality changed after that; he became guarded and withdrawn, which raised the suspicions of the guidance counselor, who called him into his office and asked if he was taking drugs. The situation would have been laughable if he hadn't been so screwed up. Then, his whole world imploded when a jealous ex-girlfriend outed him, making him a target for bullies. A piece of him died that day, but out of the ashes rose a new Dennis Booker, a tougher, more confident Dennis Booker who fought back against his antagonists and courageously defended the disenfranchised. High school was still a nightmare, but he slowly grew comfortable with his sexuality, and by the time he started college, he no longer gave a rat's ass about what people thought of him. C'est la vie…

Que sera, sera… Yada, yada, yada.

But Tom was just beginning his journey of discovery, and having trodden the same rocky path, he knew the young officer's quest toward self-acceptance would be fraught with hurdles. However, while he had trekked the bumpy road in search of enlightenment on his own, he was determined Tom would not suffer the same fate. He would be by his side, every step of the way, if not as a lover, then as a friend because no one should have to deal with such a monumental, life changing experience alone.

No one.

Therefore, when Tom stormed past him and down the stairs, his immediate instinct was to follow him. But his impetuous nature often landed him in hot water, so he decided to cool his heels and give his friend some space. Then, he would seek him out, and with gentle, guiding hands, he would introduce him to a new and exciting world filled with endless possibilities.

He would open Tom's eyes to the wonders of gay love.

 _To be continued…_


	2. Choking on the Truth

**Choking on the Truth**

Half an hour after Tom stomped out of The Chapel, Booker made the decision to track him down. When he walked out into the bright L.A. sunshine, he discovered Hanson's blue Mustang parked in its usual spot, meaning the young officer was on foot, which significantly narrowed his options. A thoughtful frown furrowed his brow, and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a battered packet of Marlboros. Tapping out a cigarette, he placed it between his lips, and with a flick of his lighter, the tip glowed red. He inhaled a lungful of smoke, the rush of nicotine instantly soothing his nerves, and casting his eyes left and right, he contemplated which way to go. Knowing Tom as he did, he figured there was a good chance he had decided to walk off his bad mood, and his gut told him to go right and head toward the small park situated within the urban decay. It was a spot Tom frequented when he needed to clear his head, and it made perfect sense he would seek out the solitude it offered. He obviously had a lot on his mind, and it was the perfect place to sit quietly beneath the shade of one of the majestic trees and process his thoughts.

The park was only a short walk, and in less than ten minutes, Booker could see the leafy canopy of outstretched branches rising defiantly from the surrounding concrete infrastructure. As he approached the wrought iron fence, he spied a lone figure sitting between the gnarled roots of a large fig tree. With his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around his shins, Tom cut a lonely figure, and Booker's heart thudded wildly against his ribs. He was the cause of all the young officer's pain, and at that moment, he wished he hadn't acted on his desires. If he could click his heels and return to the nightclub, he would never have offered to drive his friend home because that was the catalyst, the moment when Tom's life had changed forever. Without him, there would have been no kiss, without him, Tom's world would not have imploded, and as if on cue, the opening riff of Led Zeppelin's, _'Nobody's Fault but Mine'_ started playing in his head. The devil had definitely told him to roll, but as per the song, he was going to change his ways. This time, rather than act like a horny teenager, he would offer the hand of friendship and make everything right.

At least that was the plan.

With his mind firmly made up, he opened the ornate gate and walked over to the young officer. Squatting down next to him, he hesitated before laying a trembling hand on his shoulder. "Hey."

Tom looked up, his eyes squinting against the harshness of the sun's rays. At first, he didn't speak, but eventually, his gaze returned to the ground, and he exhaled a troubled sigh. "Hey, yourself."

Booker took a moment to settle himself comfortably beside Tom. A heavy silence hung between them, the distant rumble of traffic the only sound disturbing their solitude. Even the trees remained silent, their leaves unmoving in the motionless air. The quietude suited both their moods, and they welcomed the stillness it offered. But it didn't take long for Booker to become restless, and wiping the grass from his hands, he addressed the elephant in the room. "We need to talk."

Tom rested his chin on his knees, his gaze focusing on a large beetle crawling over the grass. "Why?" he asked, his dispirited tone chilling the air. "There's nothing to say."

It was not the response Booker had hoped for, and his typically cheerful attitude dissolved into a serious frown. "There's _plenty_ to say, Tom," he ventured carefully. "You and I shared an awesome experience, and I think we should at least acknowledge what happened."

Hanson's head twisted to the side, the steely glint in his eyes cold and resentful. "Awesome?" he spat, his jawbone tightening in anger. "Is _that_ what you think it was? Awesome? It wasn't _awesome,_ Booker, it was fucking _humiliating!_ I hate you for taking advantage of me when I was drunk, you fucking sonofabitch!"

Shocked disbelief widened Booker's eyes before a slow, seething animosity reddened his face, and jumping to his feet, he glared down at Tom, his hands balling into tight fists. "You think I took _advantage_ of you? You asked to see my cock, you sanctimonious prick! And you weren't drunk in the morning, you were fucking horny! So don't you _dare_ accuse me of exploiting you, you fucking asshole! All I did was give you what you wanted, but you're too repressed to admit it!"

Tom ducked his head, his mouth twisting in anguish, his internal suffering wrenching at his gut. Everything Booker said was true, and no matter how hard he tried to portion the blame, he was the one at fault. He had willingly participated in a sexual act with the dark-haired officer, and now he needed to man up and accept the consequences of his actions.

Overwhelmed with emotion, his shoulders shook violently, and hugging his knees to his chest, he hid his face from view and allowed a stream of hot tears to flow freely from his tortured eyes. He had brought his pain on himself, and he wished Booker would leave him be and let him grieve in peace.

When a gentle hand rested on his back, he instinctively flinched from the contact, but the caress continued, radiating comfort with each tender stroke. A tight band of regret tightened his chest and lifting his head, he roughly wiped the tears from his eyes. He had behaved appallingly, but his confused state of mind made it difficult for him to think straight. Never before had he felt so unsure of himself because the Tom Hanson he _thought_ he knew now appeared to be nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

He was a fraud.

Fresh tears glistened in his eyes, the opaque droplets threatening to spill at any moment, and choking back a sob, he struggled to control his quivering lip. "You're right," he croaked. "I _did_ want it, I just didn't expect it to hurt so much."

Compassion softened Booker's features, and sitting back down, he placed a comforting arm around Tom's shoulders. Sex had brought them together, yet neither man knew how to proceed. For Tom, it was a physical impediment. His embarrassment swelled inside his throat, suffocating the words he longed to speak, leaving him mute. But for Booker, the underlying cause was more emotional. The last thing he wanted to do was make matters worse by saying the wrong thing, so he chose to remain silent, at least until Tom decided to open up and discuss his feelings.

Several long minutes passed before Tom finally found his voice. With a tilt of his head, he peered through his unruly bangs and asked what was foremost on his mind. "Does this mean I'm gay?"

The naiveté behind the question brought a smile to Booker's lips, but he quickly disguised his amusement. Tom needed reassurance, and he was determined to answer as honestly and respectfully as possible, without sounding condescending. "I think you mean bi," he corrected, "and I guess that all depends."

"On?" Tom pushed, his earnest gaze fixing on his friend's face.

Booker wiped a shaky hand across his mouth. "Well, have you ever had these feelings before?"

Tom's head shook from side to side, the violent motion sending his hair whipping across his pale face. "Nuh-uh."

"Um, okay," Booker proceeded carefully. "So, why do you think you asked me to touch you?"

Heat reddened Tom's cheeks, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. "I dunno," he answered truthfully, his teeth anxiously worrying his lower lip. "I was just so horny and—"

"I was convenient?" Booker finished for him, the odd inflection in his voice hinting at his disappointment.

Tom's shoulders hunched forward. "Maybe."

Never one to give up hope, Booker continued to voice his observations. "But it was more than that, wasn't it? You also wanted to watch me jerk off."

A wince of shame passed over Tom's face, the memory of his wanton behavior adding to his growing embarrassment. Once again, the dark-haired officer was right, he _had_ wanted more than a quick handjob, he had wanted a connection, and there was no denying it, he had wanted that connection with Booker.

Unable to cope with the intense rush of emotion coursing through his veins, Tom blocked out the world the only way he knew how, by wrapping his arms around his head. But even though he could no longer see Booker, he could still feel his presence, and when he realized ignoring the dark-haired officer was a childish, futile gesture, he lifted his head and offered him a shy smile.

Booker's lips curved in reply, his tender countenance crinkling the edges of his dark, soulful eyes. "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Tom worked some much-needed saliva into his mouth before answering. "You didn't… I mean, you did, but you're right, I wanted to watch you jerk off, and since then I've…"

The remainder of the young officer's sentence remained unspoken, but this time, Booker wasn't about to let him off the hook. "Since then you've _what?"_ he pressed, his heart hammering heavily in his chest.

The depth of devotion reflecting in Booker's eyes sent a surge of panic through Tom's confused mind, and clambering to his feet, he slowly backed away. "I've gotta go."

Mentally cursing himself for pushing too hard, Booker stood up. "Don't leave, let's talk about—"

"I can't!" Tom exclaimed, his face etched with pain, and turning away, he sprinted from the park.

"Tom, wait!" Booker cried, but his plea fell on deaf ears, and within moments, his friend had vanished from sight.


End file.
